Like Mother, Unlike Daughter
by kezya
Summary: Hope's mum is a Mary Sue and Hope has to make sure she doesn't return to her Snape snagging ways, or else... Parody, but nothing vicious.


A/N: The world and characters of _Harry Potter_ belong to JK Rowling; Mary Sue owns herself and, sadly, the minds of many budding writers as well. I am not responsible for any outbreaks of self-inflicted death by spork among the readers. If you are of delicate sensibilities, it is strongly advised to treat yourself to a precautionary shot of bleeprin before attempting to read the first paragraph. Last but certainly not least, I want to thank ameyrathse over at Deleterius, whose request that we invent Sues for her indirectly inspired me to write this story.

**Like Mother, Unlike Daughter**

Severus stared in wonder at the petite woman sitting in front of him. It seemed incredible that twelve years had passed since he had seen her last; incredible and yet true, as true as the fact that she was here with him now. She had not aged a day. Her wide, almond-shaped eyes still sparkled with mirth, their warm brown depths bringing to mind chocolate and cinnamon, and exotic spices. Her lips were as full and lustrous as ever. She had even kept the piercings in her brow and lip. The only thing about her that was different than he remembered was her hair: no longer midnight black, it was a fiery red to match her spirit and fell in a wild cascade on one side of her face. It made her look quite... irresistible. She was dressed in Muggle clothes, forming a sharp contrast to the other patrons of the Three Broomsticks. The inn was packed, as it usually was during the Christmas holidays, and Charity Clarke drew all eyes to herself – as she always had.

Severus took a deep breath to steady himself. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, something urgent that he should probably remember... but he could not. His brain strangely woolly all of a sudden, he could only think about the woman before him – the woman he had once loved and then believed lost.

"I got your letter, Cherie," he said awkwardly, placing the piece of parchment covered in ruby red writing on the table. Cherie. Her special name, the one that only he had been allowed to use. Ah, how the memories returned...

"Thank you for coming, Severus," she answered in her throaty yet melodious voice. "It has been so long."

"I have not forgotten."

"Neither have I," she said with a rueful smile. "And I want you to know that I deeply regretted our splitting up."

"We were young and foolish, Cherie," he said, gently covering her hand with his own.

"Perhaps," Charity delicately inclined her head. "But still, I was wrong to doubt you, knowing you as I did. We had something precious there – and I destroyed it."

"Perhaps not everything is lost," Severus said hopefully, his heart beating wildly against his ribcage.

Charity sadly shook her head. "No, Severus. It is better this way. I have hurt you once... I'm to afraid I might do it again. You deserve better. No, I asked you to come here for someone else's sake. When we broke up twelve years ago, I didn't tell you everything. I was pregnant. Severus... you have a daughter."

"Eheheh... Mum's only joking, you know," said a nervous voice. A young, dark-skinned girl appeared behind Charity and fixed Snape with a rather manic grin.

Charity's brow creased a little. "Hope, darling, I want you to meet your father."

"A... daughter?"

"Hello, Professor Snape," said Hope, tugging at one of her pigtails. "Do you remember me? I'm Hope Clarke. First-year Hufflepuff. I'm not your daughter."

"Hope!" exclaimed her mother.

"No, really, I'm not. My dad is Bertram Warwick. He trains security trolls. He's black. See, Professor, you know you can't be my father, because you're not black. And I am. Well, half. Just look at me closely."

Snape went slightly cross-eyed with the effort of concentration. His brain was telling him two contradicting stories and he had a hard time deciding which one was true. Judging by his deepening scowl, though, and by the way his features altered to change a romantic, Heathcliffean male lead back into a greasy bastard, reality was winning. Charity harrumphed, grabbed her daughter's hand and dragged her away. Hope had had just enough time to swipe the letter off the table and into her pocket. With luck, Professor Snape would not remember any of it tomorrow.

Once outside, Hope's mother looked at her angrily. "Sweetie, I'm very cross with you."

"Yes, Mum."

"You've made me look quite foolish in front of dear Severus."

"Yes, Mum."

"We're going home now, young lady – and you may well find yourself grounded into the bargain!"

"Yes, Mum," said Hope wearily, trudging behind her mother through the snow-covered street.

After a pause, Charity asked, "Why did you say it?"

"It was the truth. You should always tell the truth."

"Who told you that?"

"You did, Mum."

"Well, obviously... but there is such a thing as the narrative imperative, too." Another pause followed. "What's the deal with all that goddamn _snow_?"

"It's December, Mum."

"Well, I don't like it!" A ball of flame appeared from Charity's outstretched hand and shot down the street, melting a path through the snow and ice. The woman grinned. "Neat, being a Pyromagus, huh?"

"Yes, Mum. But you should be careful, or you'll hurt somebody."

"Bah, ain't gonna happen," Charity said, visibly happier now that she'd had the opportunity to show off in public. "Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about you. Do you reckon I should go single-handedly after that dangerous escaped convict, Sirius Black?"

Hope stopped dead in her tracks. "Oh no, Mum, don't do that!"

Charity continued, oblivious to everything other than the sound of her own voice. "He's after that poor Potter boy. Are you friends with Harry Potter, sweetie?"

"No, Mum. He's two years older than me and he's in Gryffindor. I've never talked to him."

"Well, darling, you should. Anyway, I really think I will try and capture Black. I could use the diversion. The Aurors will _never_ find him without my help, at any rate. And," she added with a secretive smile, "if by any wild chance Sirius is innocent... well, that could lead to some _interesting_ developments."

"No, Mum, don't, please don't!"

"Darling, it's sweet of you to worry, but really, I'll be okay. He's no match for _me_!"

"Yes, but what if – what if he hears you're after him and goes after me?" said Hope, inventing wildly. "Please don't leave me, Mum, I'm scared!"

Charity looked at her for a moment and then swept her up in a hug.

"Of course I'll never leave you," she said. "You're my most important thing in the world!"

-oOoOo-

Hope had made herself some tea and was now sitting at the kitchen table, staring gloomily into the cup. Sometimes she wondered if it was really worth it – if she shouldn't simply pack and go live with her father. (Mr B. Warwick, and not by any meansProf. S. Snape.) Then, however, she always recalled what it would likely mean for her mother, and she knew she just had to pull through.

Hope's mum was a tagged Mary Sue. She had been targeted by a Sue-hunting organization; if not for the fact that she ha a non-Sueish underage daughter under her care, she would be pushing up the daisies. The hunters could still do her in, if she broke her restraining orders one time too many. That was why Hope's every waking hour at home was spent making sure that Mum behaved as mundanely as possible. She'd even bought her carpet slippers.

Charity had had a child in a fit of angsty backstory eleven years ago but as that child grew, she had proved to be increasingly practical and independent of thought, and resistant to her mother's glamour. With time, she'd begun to take up the role of her irresponsible parent's guardian. She was practically the only thing that stood between Charity and the Sue-hunters – and, Pyromagus skills or not, Hope had little difficulty predicting the outcome of a confrontation.

She looked outside and saw her mother frolicking in the garden with a herd of wild Hippogriffs and unicorns. So much for 'I'll never leave you', thought Hope bitterly. She knew better than anyone what Charity was like: less responsible than a three-year-old, as self absorbed as a cat and more vain than a prima ballerina. Still, she was Hope's mother and Hope could never stay angry with her for long. It wasn't really her fault.

She was just written that way.


End file.
